—J
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Time passes slowly, but days race by. Blending to create one long, everlasting Hell. Days turn to weeks, a month. Two months. Three. There's no way of truly knowing, though Father Aaron likes to remind me of how long I've been part of his family. Using each month as some sick anniversary for how long left before the ceremony.
There's a permanent lump in my throat whenever I think about time spent in this room. As I gaze out of the window, outside close but out of reach, I'm all too aware of life moving while I'm stuck. Every day has been the same; the family relying on a routine worked around Father Aaron. Lisa and I are left in the room until dinner time—our only meal of the day. John comes to escort us down to the dining room, where we eat whatever is served by Penny. The days Father Aaron isn't here, we don't eat at all. We're left in the room, and the lack of food is taking its toll. The dresses that were once snug now hang off my body.
Food isn't the only thing changing me. Stress is also a silent assailant. Only taking effect the night Father Aaron brought me to the other room to reveal his plans for me. I never cried as hard as I did that night, made worse by Lisa's newfound mission to keep her distance from me, which I'm sure has everything to do with me kissing her. She no longer asks questions late at night about life outside. She barely looks at me, avoiding me wherever possible, only speaking when it's an instruction or a command.
Each day, she stares out the window or at the wall whenever she doesn't give attention to her sketchbook and pencils. Always lost in her thoughts, some of which I believe aren't good from the random times she'd slam her fists against the table and shut herself in the bathroom. Staying away for long periods. All to get away from me, I'm sure.
It's almost five o'clock, and after spending the entire morning in bed with nothing else to do, I get up to dress for dinner. There's no way of knowing if Father Aaron will be here or not, but I change anyway in case John does arrive.
Lisa continues drawing as I pad over to the basket with a new batch of white dresses Penny brought to the room during the week. Supervised by John, she comes to the room to collect laundry and replaces them with perfectly ironed clean clothes. The whole time John watches me. All the sick things he wants to do to me, playing out in his eyes.
Reaching inside the basket, I pull out another dress and go into the bathroom to change. Kicking the door closed behind me, I tug my nightdress over my head, but a floorboard creaks behind me, and with a gasp, I whirl around. Lisa turns away quickly. The door hadn't closed properly, and she accidentally saw me.
Rushing over to the door, I push it closed and let out a deep breath. Trying to ignore the shivery thrill shooting down my spine.
..
"Jennie," Father Aaron says at dinnertime, and I reluctantly lift my gaze in his direction. "I'd like a word after dinner." Oh, no. What does he want now?
He peers at the horror room, and my insides sink, instant panic winding me up inside. No. I don't want to go in there. Anywhere but in there. Breathing out heavily, I can't catch my breath. I can't take this anymore, I can't—
A hand rests on top of my own, fingers tightening around mine, firm enough to pull me away from the black hole I was about to fall into. Glancing down, I blink in shock at Lisa's hand holding mine. Despite the cold way she's acted toward me this past while, I clasp her hand tighter, afraid to let go. She shifts, maybe uncomfortably, but doesn't pull away. I know I shouldn't, and it's wrong, but I can't seem to care when the panic inside of me calms, her hand like an anchor pulling me back from the fog. When my breathing goes back to normal, she lets go before we're caught.
When we all finish, Father Aaron dabs the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "Come along, Jennie."
Getting up, his hand rests on my shoulder. I'm frozen when he guides me to the horror room before opening the door and forcing me inside. It's just how it was before. Dark with a pungent scent of chemicals. My insides silently scream as my gaze settles on the table with the cuffs waiting for me. Pulling me by the arm, Father Aaron pushes me down into the chair and circles me slowly.
"Put your hands on the desk." Tears blur my vision as I do as he says, spreading my hands out against the wood. Reaching out, he touches my face. I lean back, and he laughs. "You truly are a temptress. I see why so many watched you. Why their heads turned whenever you walked by." He sighs. "It worried your grandmother a great deal."
Reaching out into the darkness, he pulls a chair from nowhere and slams it in front of me. Sitting down, he folds one of his legs over his other.
"I went to see her yesterday. She's very ill. I thought you should know."
"She's sick?"
"For a few weeks now—she didn't come to Sunday service." He drums his fingers against his thigh. "I went to visit, but she refuses to see a doctor. She says she's fine."
"I must go to her."
"No."
"Please, Father—"
"My Lord."
"My Lord," I say, the back of my throat dry. "If she's sick, then she needs me—"
"No."
"What do you mean, no? You have no right!" Anger drives me to slam my fists down on the desk. His eyebrow rises, but something inside of me has snapped, and I can't stop. "Let me go to her!" He suddenly laughs, and it enrages me even more. "You're sick. A sick, evil bastard! You're only telling me this to torment me, aren't you?"
He sighs, and the smile on his face fades. I shouldn't have yelled like that, especially knowing what he's capable of. But what he's doing is wrong. If Gran's sick, she needs to see a doctor or go to a hospital. My parents don't check in enough with her. She could die.
"Fath—my Lord, please. If you won't let me go, then force her to see a doctor, or contact my father—"
"Enough." Surging forward, he captures my chin with his fingers. I try to pull back from him, but he doesn't let go. He comes closer, lips barely inches from my face, and I whimper from the closeness of him—the sickly smell of his peppery cologne. He sighs as he moves in, pushing his nose into my hair and inhaling deeply. My entire body screams from his touch.
"Your defiance is what troubles me." I cry out as he fists my hair and pulls my head back. "It both irritates and interests me. But it won't save you. What did I once tell you? That angels can be sent to hell if needed. And you don't want my kind of Hell."
"Please," I beg as he tugs my hair, forcing me to stand.
"Your emotions got the better of you, but next time I'll cut out your tongue for talking that way to your Lord."
Dragging me back to the bedroom, Father Aaron throws me inside. As he slams the door behind me, Lisa rises from the chair slowly, but I can't bring myself to look at her. I stand still, staring at the door, wishing I were strong enough to bash it down. Stalking into the bathroom, I step into the bathtub fully clothed. Turning on the shower, I sit down and hug my knees to my chest as water seeps through my clothes—anything to wash him off my skin.
As I rock back and forth, thoughts of Gran being sick and incapable of doing anything makes me tremble. It's my fault. I thought those terrible things about her, and now this is the price I'm paying. What happens if she dies? All I have left are my parents, who live miles away and don't care. Nobody is looking for you. Nobody cares about you.
I pound my temples with my fists, unable to endure this pain any longer. "I want out, I want out, I want out!"
Lisa sits in the tub behind me, her long legs appearing on either side of my body.
"Stop." She grabs my wrists, and I try to fight her, but she doesn't let go. Defeated, I lean back against her. Why she's doing this, I don't know, but being comforted by her is both confusing and helping.
Breaking down, I let out a sob. "Gran's sick. She might die, and I'll have nobody. My parents don't care about me. They never have. What am I going to do?"
Pulling my wrists from her grasp, I cover my face. Hearing her let out a deep breath behind me, she takes hold of my shoulders and turns me. Prying my hands from my eyes, I blink through the spray of tears and water coming down on top of us, shuddering from the intensity in her eyes. How can she not speak to me for so long and suddenly make me feel this way?
Droplets of water drip down the side of her face. Perfect in every way on the outside but broken inside. Like I will be. Maybe already am.
"I'm sorry I kissed you." I don't know why I say it, but I feel like I must.
"I know."
"Lisa?" I choke on my tears, needing reassurance that all of this is a cruel joke. "He—Father Aaron. He wants me for terrible things. There's to be a ceremony…" She says nothing, and the lack of surprise is evident on her face. "You already know, don't you?"
My insides tighten when she nods. Oh God, she knows.
Pushing her away, I climb out of the tub and back away from her. She gets out after me, her wet clothes soaking the floor. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Would it have made a difference?" I'm taken aback by her answer.
Maybe it wouldn't have made any difference, but at least I would've been prepared. Tried harder to escape. Done something. Anything! "You've seen me in pain all this time, and you didn't think of telling me his plans for me?"
"And cause you more pain?" Her tone is dry. "How could I tell you that he intends to make you his mistress without hurting you further?"
Staggering back, sickness swirls in my stomach. His mistress. I knew deep down but hearing it out loud breaks me. That Father Aaron intends to use my body.
"No," I sob louder, hands shaking. "He can't do that."
"I'm sorry," Lisa whispers, but I can't hear her. Turning away from her, I dart from the bathroom and rush over to the door. Yanking the handle, I scream out with frustration when it doesn't open. I'm about to bang on the door when Lisa's suddenly behind me and grabbing my upper arms. "Stop. He'll hear you."
"Don't touch me!"
My hands slam into her chest and she stumbles back. Gasping, I lose my balance and crash into her. We both topple to the floor, and I land on top of her. She stares up at me in shock. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I, I'm—" As I try and get off her, the skirt of my dress bunches up around my waist, and that's when I feel something. Something rock hard straining her pants.
My breath catches in my throat and her eyes widen as her erection presses against my stomach. I don't move a muscle, and neither does she. I remember John mentioning her condition, but feeling it against me made it even more real. Her eyes drop to my lips and my belly coils tighter. All I can do is stare at her, waiting for her to close the gap between us. But when one of my tears lands on her cheek, she blinks and suddenly pushes me back.
"We shouldn't." Her voice is huskier than before. "I'm…I'm not good."
"You're right. Liars never are."
Her eyebrows pinch together as she gets up and heads into the bathroom, and I glare after her as she slams the door in my face.
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